I thought that after the flu virus made its rounds on the family, I’d be done with it. But a mutated strain has come back to bite me in the ass, so on top of all my other problems, I’ve also completely lost my voice.

See, I can totally appreciate the irony of it all. Serves me right for going on and on about not having anyone to talk to. Now I don’t even have a voice to whine about it. I feel like the universe is mocking me. But it’s not gonna stop me from blogging about it. Hah, take that!

Last evening, I decided to go get some new meds from the clinic near my place, since my immune system has decided to go on strike. It was a rather reputable clinic, the kind that opens till 9.30pm on a Sunday night. Which makes it all the more uncanny that they had a quack on shift just when I needed a consult. (like I said, the universe was mocking me) First up, he looked like an Asian version of a Hillbilly, except with a stethoscope around his neck.

He eyed me with suspicion the moment I walked into his office. After describing my various ailments in my barely audible croak, his first question was “Are you working?” (Translation: That was the most pathetic fake loss-of-voice I’ve ever heard and I bet your lazy ass just needs to be excused from work tomorrow.)

“No,” I mumbled. Another suspicious look. (Translation: Tsk tsk, not another knocked-up teenager bumming around at the expense of us taxpayers). He proceeded take my temperature and do an obligatory check on my throat.

At this point, I was starting to feel uncomfortable. This is the first time I’ve had to endure a silent castigation at a clinic, and by a doctor I’m not sure even made it out of med school. This was an absolute outrage. I mean, even when I was faking it to be excused from school during my errant years, the doctors still (although unwillingly) had the courtesy to give me the benefit of the doubt.

I thought of making a snide remark along the lines of “I hope your Hillbilly quackery won’t get me killed from a misdiagnosis”, but I wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t prescribe me laxatives just for kicks, so I decided to refrain. I didn’t think it was possible, but I left feeling worse that before I went in.

I get it. Some days are just meant to be a test of character. My ego just took the beating of its life, my son thinks I’m Lord Vader, and even the blackbirds are having a field day outside my kitchen window taking pot shots at my plight. Talk about learning endurance the hard way.